Ironically, J. Paul Getty never saw the Getty Villa. He died two years after his museum opened to the public in January 1974 in a new building modeled on an ancient Roman luxury home. It was not until after Getty’s death in June 1976 that he returned from his estate in England to his “ranch” on the Pacific Coast: he is buried there at the edge of the property on a private plot overlooking the ocean, alongside his eldest and youngest sons, George and Timothy, both of whom predeceased him. Following a renovation and reinstallation of the galleries, the Getty Villa opens a new chapter in its history. Although Getty never set eyes on his creation, the story of how he built the Villa and assembled his collection pervades the galleries even today. A suite of revamped rooms—Galleries 105 to 108—share this history. Featuring ancient works of art Getty bought himself along with archival documents, the new displays place the objects in their cultural contexts and shed light on Getty’s personal relationship to his museum and final resting place. From a Ranch House to an Ancient Villa Getty bought the 64-acre ranch—once part of the Rancho Boca de Santa Monica, an early-nineteenth-century 6,656-acre Mexican land grant—just after the end of World War II, intending it as a weekend retreat where his fifth wife Theodora (“Teddy”) could ride horses and he could display his growing art collection. He knew the area well, for he already owned a small house on the beach in nearby Santa Monica, just steps from the sprawling complex his friend and rival collector William Randolph Hearst had built for the actress Marion Davies. (The Davies estate is now the Annenberg Community Beach House, while Getty’s beach house has been replaced by a large modern condo complex, 270 Palisades Beach Road.) In what order did Getty's sons George and Timothy die? - not enough information - George died before Timothy - They died in an accident together - Timothy passed away first
not enough information

Well we're not married (yet), but one time my boyfriend playfully spanked me. Hard. I know he didn't mean to hurt me, but I was mad about it all. Day. Long. I just couldn't get over the fact that he technically hit me! I started to consider things like, “Is he really sorry?” “Will he do it again?” “Should I leave him?” And gave myself reasons like “He didn't mean to!” “He's been apologizing all day!” “He was just playing!” “He meant to have fun, He's sorry!” Yet countered it with one simple statement, “Yeah that's what all abused women say.” In the end, I felt the question that should determine whether or not I should leave is: “If I stop talking to him tomorrow and can never see him or speak to him again, will I be okay with that?” and the answer was “No”, so obviously I shouldn't leave him. He is very well aware that I was considering leaving him, (I have a very strict 0 tolerance policy of abuse in my relationships, as I was abused terribly growing up,) and he still apologizes to this day, but he has certainly made it a point to never do that again. I definitely trust him, and he actually was being playful, but otherwise that has been the only “real” hitch we have come across. I mean, we argue, but that's only when either of us are mad, and it's usually over small stupid stuff. Like, really stupid stuff. We argued over traffic signs before, LOL. It always leads to me saying the argument is completely retarded and we drop it and just cuddle or something. Really not worth getting worked up about. Edit: Fixed some typos. I'm on my phone so my thumbs can't quite reach LOL. After the end of this narration, the woman probably: - not enough information - Still has the same cordial relationship with her boyfriend - has not forgiven her boyfriend for spanking her - has forgotten about her childhood abuse
Still has the same cordial relationship with her boyfriend

(Question)
Greg said goodbye to his last student at 8:15 PM, locked up the studio, and got into his car. He always looked forward to his evening rendezvous with Bonnie--his nickname for the Bonneville. He liked to put her top down, and drive her around town in the moonlight. Their route varied from night to night, but the ultimate destination was never in question. "May I help you?" The worn-out speaker was crackly, but he still recognized the particularly twangy East Texas voice of Fontana Fry. Over his six years of vocal training, he had become acutely aware of accents. This is true of all classically trained singers. Great emphasis is placed on precise pronunciation and enunciation. It is mandatory that the singer's repertoire include works written in English, Latin, Italian, German, and French. So, by the time Greg finished his graduate degree, his accent had been all but eliminated. He sounded somewhat like a network news anchor instead of an East Texan. "I would like a large--" "--a large dipped cone, the usual. Right?" The Dairy Queen drive-thru ordering station was located out in front of the restaurant, on the right side. He looked up, and saw the 19 year-old waving at him. She looked so cute in her little Dairy Queen outfit. Fontana was in her first year at Kilgore College. She planned to be an elementary teacher. He knew she would be a good one. Greg had met Fontana a few months earlier when she brought her 13-year-old brother to the studio to enroll for guitar lessons. The boy was holding a U.S. made, 1968 Harmony acoustic guitar his uncle gave him. The body and the frets were badly worn, but the instrument still played beautifully. It looked somewhat like a large violin, with arched top and f-holes. That shape produces a more mellow sound than flattops. And the guitar's age contributed additional warmth to the tone. Greg got into his car - At 8:15 AM - After saying goodbye to his last student - After ordering ice cream - not enough information
(Answer)

After saying goodbye to his last student